


Of Cryptids and Agents

by RowWithAChipNPin



Category: The Secret Saturdays
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bromance, Clones, Cutting, Drabble Collection, Frenemies, Friendship, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Sexual Assault, Implied Torture, Male Slash, Multi, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con References, Redemption, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowWithAChipNPin/pseuds/RowWithAChipNPin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a love/hate thing; sometimes more hate than love. Some days they really liked each other; some days they wanted to push the other in front of a bus. But somehow, they knew they couldn't live without the other. 50 short Zak & Francis friend fics</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cryptids and Agents

**01\. Guilt**

Zak clenched and unclenched his hands, fingers itching to grab the Claw; a knot of anxiety and edginess was turning his stomach inside out. He didn't know why he was so nervous; he had the Claw, he could press the emergency button on his vid-phone easily, Doyle was watching from a table at a nearby café and could intervene if something happened. Besides, it was just Francis; after Istanbul, surely the other boy wouldn't attack him. _Though I would feel a lot better if I could make sure he doesn't have that sonic collar on him..._

"Look, I just want to talk. I swear, nothing fishy. There are no agents, no plots, no weapons; you can search me if you'd like," Francis said, holding up his hands as if to show Zak he was unarmed.

It was like he could read his mind.

The other boy looked so different from the last time they'd seen each other; faded jeans, a black T-shirt, and Converse had replaced his grayman uniform, his hair was messier, and his glasses were gone, revealing golden eyes. Without the coat, he was lean and wiry, and skinnier than Zak would've thought. He looked like a teenager instead of a carbon copy agent—albeit a hungry teenager who hadn't seen a shower in…Zak didn't even know how long. A backpack was slung over his shoulder; it looked like it had seen some tough times as well.

"Talk about what? And what happened to you?"

Francis smirked sardonically. "I got fired. Epsilon and his people weren't too happy about my letting you go back in Istanbul. I got yelled at by about twelve different people, then they dropped me off in the middle of nowhere and, basically, told me to get lost. I'd say I'm out of a job."

Zak couldn't help but feel guilty. This was _his_ fault; Francis was, essentially, disowned because he didn't "recruit" (read: capture) him. _That's why he looks like crap; he's been practically homeless for I-don't-know how long._ Zak made one of his infamous split-second decisions and grabbed the (ex) agent's hand, and before Francis could complain, started pulling him towards Doyle at the café. If he wasn't an agent, then they weren't enemies and if they weren't enemies…that made them friends. Or at the very least, allies.

**02\. Kiss**

When Wadi finally kissed Zak, the Saturday teen stood in the same place for almost ten minutes. During that ten minutes, Francis went and got a pizza. When he came back, he patted his friend on the back. "Way to go, dude. But here's a tip: next time, _kiss back._ " Zak groaned, smacking himself in the head. _"Aw man!"_

**03\. Smile**

When he woke up in the infirmary to the pull of stitches in his side and a throbbing headache, Zak reflected that maybe showing off hadn't exactly been the smartest move. Still, the microscopic smile he'd seen on Francis's face was definitely worth a little pain.

Three days later, when he was deemed able to leave the infirmary and discovered, to his chagrin, that he was grounded for two months, he decided that it was still worth it.

**04\. Pain**

"And _that,_ " Francis said pointedly, looking at his friend's cast, _"_ is why you _look_ into a pool before you jump."

Zak just grins through the pain and tries not to look _too_ sorry for himself.

**05\. Potatoes**

"Oh for gawd sake, Francis! It's chopping potatoes, not A-ranked espionage!"

Zak learned the hard way not to interfere when Francis was armed with a wickedly sharp kitchen knife. On the plus side, he never bothered the ex-agent when he was cooking ever again. On the other end of the spectrum, Francis had to start all over again because he got blood on the potatoes.

**06\. Rain**

Zak and Fisk sighed and leaned back on the hood of the rusty, crappy sedan they'd bought off a guy three rest stops ago, staring at the horizon in hopes that Francis's van would magically appear. It didn't.

Fisk glanced at his brother and growled. Zak glared at him. " _Yes,_ I called him! He said he'd be here soon."

Fisk asked how soon was "soon." Zak didn't answer the question. Thirty minutes later, it started pouring. Both scrambled into the car, but by the time they got off the hood, Zak found the keys, and they jumped inside, they were both soaked. Shivering, cold, and miserable, both boys watched the horizon for another thirty minutes...then another...

Finally, Francis's battered red van bumped over the deserted road and pulled up alongside the boys' junk heap. They scrambled out and rushed to the car, struggling to get into the backseat and warmth. Francis turned around to look at them with an utterly smug smirk on his face. "I told you that crappy truck wouldn't make it."

Zak glared at him. "Shut up and dri-you stopped and got _Starbucks!_ Dude! _So_ wrong!"

**07\. Lies**

He understood the world, all right. It was a place where guns won out over knives, knives over tire irons, tire irons over fists, and fists over minds. You could accept that and a place there, or you could let it roll over you and take you out. Epsilon had asked him what he'd been thinking when he'd let Zak go.

He'd had the right answer, and it wasn't "I don't know."

He'd been thinking that Zak had a damn good point, and for once, someone understood what it was like.

**08\. Faith**

"Trust me," Zak said as he held out his hand toward Francis, eyes pleading for the ex-agent to believe him and take it. The bridge over the Grand Canyon wouldn't hold much longer and it was a long, _long_ fall to the Colorado River bed and a rather painful _splat._ Francis looked between the offered hand and the other boy's face. He closed his eyes and made a choice.

He grabbed Zak's hand and let go of the chain just as the bridge gave way, plummeting to its demise thousands of feet below.

**09\. Dorks**

Wadi stared at Zak and Francis dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow and Will Turner respectively, and decided she really didn't want to know. Boys would be boys, no matter how many years had passed since their days as rivals, and dorks would be dorks.

**10\. Ears**

Zak admired his newly pierced ear in the bathroom mirror. The area was angry red and inflamed, but the two bronze rings in his left ear made up for the dull throbbing. Behind him, Francis was shaking his head in disbelief.

"Remind me to never go shopping with Doyle. God knows what he'd do to me. Probably get me a tattoo." Still, as Francis would later tell him, the rings _were_ pretty cool. And girls like a guy with earrings, right?

**11\. Name**

"You need a last name," Zak said decisively one lazy afternoon, studying Francis with a scrutiny that made the clone slightly uncomfortable. The fair-haired teen looked away, staring across the lake, and Zak continued. "I mean, I get why you didn't need one when you were an agent, but now…What do you think?"

Francis shrugged, unconcerned. A few weeks ago, he would have questioned the other boy's stability after bringing up such a random topic, but now it didn't bother him. "I dunno, I guess so. Any ideas?"

Zak tossed suggestions around for a few minutes, and each time, Francis found a reason to strike it. The Saturday boy typed away at his computer, looking for combinations that sounded good. Finally, Zak brightened, as if he'd just struck gold. "What about Smith? It's the most common surname in the world, making it easy to blend in and disappear. You wouldn't stand out—I mean, _my_ last name is Saturday, for crying out loud—and it's like the requisite name of a secret agent. Whaddya think?" He looked

Francis considered it, testing the name in his head: _Francis Smith._ He nodded, ignoring Zak's overly enthusiastic victory punch.

"I like it."

**12\. Endless**

" _This is the song that doesn't end!_

_It goes on and on, my friends!_

_Somebody started singing it_

_Not knowing what it was_

_And they'll continue singing it_

_No matter, just because,"_

246 verses later…

" _This is the song that doesn't end!"_

"Oh my God, does this song ever just END?"

**13\. Death**

Zak was seventeen when his parents died. They'd gone on a recon mission in the Amazon, supposed to be just a quick surveillance sweep of an area where a cryptid sighting had been reported. The only reason Zak didn't go with them was because he was still grounded for pulling a "stupid, reckless, and dangerous stunt that could have gotten you killed!"

Later, he wished he'd been there. Maybe he could've changed something, saved them. Maybe if he'd been there, they'd still be alive.

"Maybes" and "what ifs" didn't matter, because the truth was, he _hadn't_ been there. Doyle—who was now his legal guardian until he turned eighteen and was granted access to his father's fortune—kept telling him that there was nothing he could have done, but Zak couldn't dispel the feeling that yes, in fact, there _was_ something he could have done. He didn't know what it was, but he _knew_ that he should have done something different. Insist that he go with them, beg them to lift his punishment, sneak onto the airship before it left.

He was grateful when Francis didn't tell him the same thing Doyle did—all Francis did was pull him into a hug and hold him when, after almost a week, he finally broke down in hysterical sobs. He stood by him at the funeral, holding his hand because he knew that Zak needed something to ground him, to keep him from falling into the abyss of depression and anger that threatened to suck him up and never spit him out.

**14\. Sex**

Zak couldn't understand why people would glare or thrown disgusted looks at him and Francis if he held the ex-agent's hand while out on a date or a mission. Whenever he caught someone staring at them like they were something dirty, he'd pull his boyfriend closer protectively and scowl at the offender. Why should sex matter when it came to love? Even when he was a little kid he never understood, and now that he himself had a boyfriend, he understood even less.

**15\. Panic**

It wasn't until the feeling of Zak wrapping an arm around his shoulders became a little too familiar and a little too comfortable that Francis started to panic.

**16\. Win**

"All hail Lord Zak, king of the X-Box!" Zak yelled triumphantly, grinning about his victory against Doyle and Francis in their video game tournament.

"So does that make Francis your queen?" Wadi teased from her spot on the couch.

"Yes, yes it does."

Francis face-palmed and resisted the urge to strangle his friend as Doyle started laughing, falling off the couch in the process.

**17\. Tears**

The first time Francis ever cried was when he was blinded in Bangladesh. The last thing he remembered was agony exploding across his face when the acid splashed him before he blacked out. He woke up in the infirmary to a killer headache and a serious need for painkillers. Something—no, someone—was holding his hand. As soon as the owner realized he was awake, he was given a heavy dose of sedative and Zak explained to him what had happened.

He was blind. His skin and eyes would heal, though he would have a rather impressive scar across his eyes, but it was highly unlikely that he would ever regain his sight. Francis did the math in his head; the chances were 1 in a million that his eyes would heal, even with surgery.

"Hey, it's okay to cry," Zak said after he was done talking, sounding unusually brotherly. Francis was confused—he wasn't crying, so why would Zak…

Francis lifted a hand to his cheeks, shocked to find that they and the bandages were wet. Stunned, he didn't resist when wiry arms pulled him into a tight, reassuring hug. Instead, he rest his head on Zak's shoulder in the crook of his neck, let his arms find their way around the other teen's waist, and he cried.

**18\. Speed**

_It truly is amazing how fast Zak can move when there is pizza involved_ , Francis marveled, watching his friend fall on the stack of ham, bacon, and cheese confections like a starving hyena.

**19\. Family**

To give Doyle credit where credit is due, he didn't question it when Zak told him via vid-phone that Francis was part of the family now. He just shook his head and asked when his birthday was; there was something to be said about the Saturday family when you're adopted without question.

**20\. Freedom**

**F** is for finally getting a life of his own

**R** is for realizing that Zak was right: they could tell them what they were, not who they had to be

**E** is for the echoes of the past that would continue to haunt him

**E** is for the elephant in the room the Saturdays refused to acknowledge when they took in a newly homeless Francis

**D** is for the days they spent acclimating Francis to the real world

**O** is for obstinacy Zak displayed when he declared to his parents that he wanted to enroll in an actual high school with his new brother

**M** is for miracle that Epsilon and his people hadn't completely ruined the teenaged clone's chance at being as normal as it could get

**21\. Life**

Francis had always thought that the only life ahead of him was that of an agent; his destiny was set in stone, his future all planned out. Then Zak came around and turned everything upside down, proving to the clone that he didn't need to be who the Graymen wanted him to be. Later, when Francis was, for lack of better term, _discharged,_ Zak was right there to offer him a helping hand and, when necessary, the kick in the ass that he needed.

Francis would never be able to repay Zak for giving him the push he needed to take the first steps down his own path.

**22\. Visual**

"Hey Doyle, do you—WHOA!" Zak slammed the door shut and shouted, "For the love of God, LEARN TO LOCK THE DAMN DOOR!" Francis just sighed and walked away, contemplating the possible ways to rid himself of the image of Doyle and his latest girlfriend doing the horizontal mamba.

_Is it possible to scrub your brain with bleach?_

**23\. Walk**

With nothing else to do and nothing left to say, Francis turned around and started walking, leaving behind the only life he'd ever known, hoping that when he encountered the Saturdays again, Zak would remember the last conversation they had and not attack straight away.

**24\. Operation**

"Are you completely, totally sure?" Francis asked once more, peering at his brother over his glasses. He'd asked before, but he had to be absolutely, one-hundred percent positive that Zak knew what the risks were and what the consequences. The surgery would be excruciatingly painful and the rehabilitation torture; it would be at least three years before he could re-enter the field as a functioning Secret Scientist.

Zak leaned his head back against the chair and sighed, his eyes closed under his white bangs. His chest and what remained of right arm was heavily wrapped in bandages, though spots of blood were seeping through the swaths of white. "It's the only way I'll ever be able to fully get back out into the field, right?"

Francis nodded, though the other man didn't see it. He tapped the schematics duct taped to the wall, admiring his blueprints with the affection an artist might show a particularly beautiful piece of work. It was sleek, sophisticated, and state-of-the-art, and if he did say so himself, gorgeous in its simplicity. He was proud of many of his creations, but there was no doubt—this cybernetic limb was his greatest achievement.

"That is correct. Your arm was damaged beyond use from the upper arm down, but from a certain point, the nerves and muscle is still functional. I can link the prosthetic arm directly to the nervous system, so it should respond to electrical pulses from the nerves and act like your actual arm. That is, if you manage to complete rehabilitation after installation."

"Right, the rehab. That'll be tough, won't it?" It was amazing how relaxed the young scientist managed to appear when he was in as much pain as he was; it was only with Francis's practiced eye that he caught the subtle signs that Zak was in _a lot_ of pain. It was in the clench of his left fist, the set of his jaw, and the barely there creases between his eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah, if you consider three years of agonizing pain, nonstop training, and no drugs 'tough.' You must realize Zak; this won't be easy by any stretch of the imagination. It will be the hardest thing you have ever done, or _will_ ever do, in your life. If you go through with this, there will be no turning back. This will change the course of your life." He turned back around, bespectacled eyes meeting Zak's. He adjusted his glasses as they slipped down his nose. Zak met his gaze steadfast.

"Yes, Francis, I'm sure. Now go ahead and get it over with." Francis shrugged and pulled a measuring tape from his labcoat pocket. He used it to gauge the length and measurements of Zak's left arm, and jotted them down on a Post-It note. He was setting out the necessary tools for the surgery when Zak spoke up.

"You say it'll be three years?" he asked, looking thoughtful. Francis nodded. "Yes, three years is the estimated recovery and physical rehabilitation time."

Zak smirked in a way that made Francis want to shudder. "One year."

Francis chuckled as he filled a syringe with a sedative. "Not even _you_ could do it in only a year." He swiped a patch of Zak's skin with a cotton swap and slid in the needle without warning,

Zak winced as his brother depressed the syringe, emptying the tranquilizer into his system. It was a few minutes before it took effect, a span of time they filled with idle chitchat, talking about silly little things to ease the tension. Finally, Zak's vision started going fuzzy and his concentration kept slipping. Just before he went under, he mumbled, "Hey, Fr'ncis? You kn'w wh' y're doin', righ'?"

Francis laughed, ruffling his brother's messy hair fondly. "Yes, I know what I'm doing."

"Pr'mse?"

"I promise."

**25\. First**

It was light, chaste, and unsure; a pair of lips pressed softly against his. It was questioning, inexperienced, gentle. Francis's arms slid around the taller boy's neck, one of Zak's wrapped around his waist, the other sliding up his back and pulling him closer. It wasn't open-mouthed, no tongue involved, and it was exactly what a first kiss what supposed to be—inexperienced and curious. Zak pulled away first, looking down at the mint-haired boy with glittering eyes, panting softly.

"I have no idea what the hell just happened, but I liked it, and since you weren't exactly a silent partner in _that,_ I'm guessing you did too."

Smiling softly, Francis stepped back from the Saturday, blushing when Zak took his hand and intertwined their fingers. Zak laughed at the other boy's sudden shyness and kissed his pink-tinted cheek.

Every journey starts with the first step, and somehow, they just knew that this was going to be the most interesting yet.

**26\. Crash**

Zak grunted as he hit the gym mat... _again._ For the last thirty minutes he'd been working to perfect a new acrobatic move his mom had showed him, and every time he got to a certain point, he face-planted from ten feet up onto the mats.

Wadi rushed over and helped him up, gently pulling him by his elbow. "Are you okay, Zak?"

"Yeah...'m good," Zak lied, covering his bleeding nose so that she wouldn't be alarmed.

Wadi saw it anyway. "Oh my God! You're bleeding! Let me go get some tissues!"

She rushed out just as Francis rushed in, a familiar smirk on his face.

"What do you want, Francis?" Zak growled, but it sounds like _Whaht, Fwanshis_ because of his bloody nose.

"Dude, you sound like there's a pillow stuck up your nose!" Francis was snickering, and that was never a good sign. Zak backed away, but he forgot that Francis had speed on his side.

" _Oufff!_ " Zak got his breath knocked away as Francis tripped him from behind, making him fall back first onto the exercise mats. For a minute, he sat still, trying to get his breath back despite his clogged nose.

Francis was laughing so hard he was close to tears beside him.

Zak kicked him in the shin from his prone position...hard.

" _Ouch!_ Zak! What the hell?"

**27\. Blood**

Dead bodies surrounded him, the gun still smoking in his hand. For the life of him, Francis couldn't tell how much of the blood drenching Zak Saturday was his and how much was that of his enemies, because the fresh blood was just as red. Tears made tiny tracks through the blood and dirt caking the teenager's face as, with shaking hands, he dropped the gun and whispered, sounding broken, "I had no choice" before he fell to his knees.

**28\. Sickness**

Patiently, Francis held back Zak's hair with one hand and rubbed his back with the other as his friend emptied his stomach's contents into the apartment bathroom.

"I told you that eating the Chinese was a bad idea," he chided when Zak was finished heaving. "It was two weeks old and growing a colony of mold people."

**29\. Melody**

Despite the similarities between them, Zak and Francis had very different tastes in music—Zak preferred classic rock, like Bon Jovi, the Eagles, Queen, and Billy Joel, and Francis listened to so-loud-his-ears-bleed Green Day, Linkin Park, My Chemical Romance, and Fall Out Boy.

**30\. Yes**

"Hey, Francis?"

"Yes?"

"I'm bored. Wanna do something?"

"Yes."

"Any suggestions?"

"Yes."

"Like what?

"Yes."

"Francis? Whaddya want to do?"

"Yes."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"Yes."

"ARGH!"

**31\. Home**

_House: A building in which people live_

_Home: A place in which one's domestic affections are centered_

The Organization had never been home. Not once had he felt safe there. He'd never had the opportunity to be a kid—he'd been an agent from birth, no question, no alternatives. When he left, he had no qualms or misgivings about walking out. For a guy like him, a Grayman born and bred (literally), he'd once doubted he would _ever_ have a real home. Yet, somehow, looking around his room on the Saturday airship, he realized that maybe he _had_ found a place he could call home.

**32\. Confusion**

Zak almost couldn't hold in his laugh when Francis stared dumbfounded at the baseball glove, unsure of which hand to put it on. As smart as the guy was, he was sure clueless about a lot of stuff.

**33\. Fear**

Francis knew it was childish, knew that there was nothing to be afraid of, and knew that it was pathetic. It was a natural occurrence, easily explained through science and physics. It was an atmospheric electrostatic discharge accompanied by a large and loud _boom_ caused by a sudden increase in pressure and temperature that the previously mentioned phenomenon produces by rapid expansion of the air surrounding and within. See? Easily explainable.

That didn't stop him from yelping and burying his face in Zak's shoulder when a bright light illuminated the living room and a massive crash shook the house. Logic didn't stop him from clutching Zak's shirt desperately while his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, nor did it stop his eyes from stinging with unshed tears. Zak didn't comment; he only held his friend tightly and whispered that it was going to okay and that he wasn't going anywhere.

**34\. Borrow**

Francis spent fifteen minutes searching for his favorite T-shirt before coming to the obvious conclusion.

"ZAK!" he shouted across the hall, towards the slightly open door with music pouring out of it loudly.

"YEAH?"

"DO YOU HAVE MY GREEN DAY SHIRT?"

"PROBABLY!"

Francis rolled his eyes at his friend's dorkness and went across the hallway shirtless to go check for himself. He wasn't surprised that Zak's room was an absolute pigsty, covered with posters and pictures and books and clothing, and instead went directly towards one of the dresser drawers. Within three minutes of searching (enough for Zal to finish singing a _horrible_ pop culture song by some wannabe), Francis extracts his vintage Green Day band T-shirt and yanked it on over his head.

Something caught his eye in the drawer just as he was about to close it, so he looked back and realizes that it was one of _his_ CDs. He grabbed it and pawed through the rest of the drawer, realizing that most of the stuff was _his._

"Dude, why don't you ever bring back anything you borrow?" Francis asked, turning his head to where Zak was sprawled on the bed with a sci-fi novel.

"Why would I bring it back?" Zak asked, honestly stumped. "If you want it you know where it is."

Francis face-palmed, flicked Zak's forehead—"Ouch! WTF? Why do you hit me?"—and went across the hallway with five of _his_ CDs, two sweatshirts and a pair of jeans, a first-aid kit, his favorite fedora, a dictionary, and a thesaurus.

**35\. Bonds**

It was dark, Zak wouldn't stop wiggling, and the ropes chafed. Francis wanted to tell him to stop, but the gag put a damper that plan. So he went for something more direct.

"Opphh!" Zak squeaked at the elbow in his rib. Francis couldn't make out the rest of the muffled grumbles.

But it didn't stop the wiggling. They were back to back, ankles bound, wrists tied to each other's, and then wrapped in rope around their torsos. Oh, gagged and blindfolded, too. So even if their vid phones had reception in the underground mine shaft, it wouldn't matter because neither of them could reach the phones, or speak, for that matter.

Or see.

Or move.

**36\. Cooking**

When they started sharing an apartment, they had come to an Agreement: Zak would do all the shopping as long as Francis did all the cooking. It had long been decided that Zak should not, under any circumstances, be allowed in the kitchen when it involved anything more complicated than a can opener, the microwave, or the toaster. Explicitly, any sharp objects and the blender were off limits for any reason less urgent than the Zombie Apocalypse.

**37\. Technology**

As it turned out, Francis was quite gifted with technology—he hacked into the Pentagon in under ten minutes, and the White House in under fifteen. Zak decided then and there never to piss off his brother unless it was absolutely going to be worth it. Only a hacker could cause that much damage while leaving no trace.

**38\. Holiday**

The first Christmas Francis was with the Saturdays was the first he'd ever celebrated, and it yielded… _interesting_ results, to say the least.

The two boys got stuck under the mistletoe, much to their chagrin, and Fisk wouldn't let them leave until they kissed. They learned just how much chocolate two teenagers can consume before they puke, and that Francis was allergic to cranberry sauce. They teamed up with Doyle against Doc, Drew, and Fisk during the Snow Wars that erupted after Doyle nailed his sister and brother-in-law in their faces.

They all helped decorate the tree (minus Doc and Doyle, who ducked out under the guise of last minute shopping, but really just wanted to get out of listening to the stories Drew would no doubt tell) and managed not to break _too_ many ornaments. For Francis, the whole thing was rather awkward, as the Saturdays had a string of traditions that he didn't know, and he wasn't quite sure how to act.

When it came to presents on Christmas morning, he found that it wasn't as bad anymore. It was amazing to him how quickly they'd accepted him into the family, considering the circumstances under which they'd originally met. He received a new laptop and a camera from Doc and Drew, and a couple new games for the computer from Zak and Fisk. He'd done his own Christmas shopping with Zak when they'd been in New York not long ago, and though he wasn't confident in his picks, he hoped they weren't too bad; there weren't any complaints, at least, though that might have been just them being nice. Overall, he decided that Christmas wasn't that bad

He was feeling slightly less in the holiday mood when Zak slid a pair of reindeer antlers on his head and took a picture.

**39\. Rape**

Zak Saturday was burning with fury and hate so immeasurable, it was a wonder he hadn't spontaneously combusted.

Still, he held back his anger for the moment as his brother—naked, bloody, and smelling of forced sex—sobbed against his chest. He had to force himself to coo cutesy little phrases to the teen like, "It's okay, now," and "I'm here," to comfort the frightened ex-agent as he bided his time, waiting until Francis was coherent enough to tell him who'd done this, so he could make them _suffer and die_.

**40\. Idiot**

Francis decided that, with the last stunt of accidently tripping and throwing syrup-drowned pancakes all over Ulraj at a sprint, Zak had _officially_ made himself a complete idiot.

**41\. Completion**

They were like two sides of the same coin, complete opposites that couldn't live without each other. On paper, they were a disaster. Francis was serious; Zak would rather goof off than do any work. Francis got things done right away, so he had time to harass Zak; Zak was lazy and put things off for a long as possible. Francis was quiet and somber; the only time _Zak_ was quiet was when he was asleep or pouting (usually because of something Francis did or said). Uptight, relaxed; grumpy, optimistic; responsible, reckless. But, both were obnoxious beyond belief, and the decision to pair them up was either the greatest mistake or the best decision the Secret Scientists ever made.

The jury's still out on the answer.

**42\. Unnecessary**

Francis had to adjust his glasses as they fell low on his nose, giving him a clearer view of the tree next to the sidewalk (the kind surrounded by cement and actually a bit _in_ the sidewalk) that had just been set on fire with no warning.

"That seemed unnecessary," he idly commented.

"Yeah," the man walking with him admitted, "it was."

**43\. Caught**

Wadi was shocked when she had walked into Zak's room to find Francis sprawled on his back on the teen's bed, with Zak's mouth at his neck and both boys staring wide-eyed at her like deer caught in the headlights.

**44\. Experiment**

"Oh my God, Francis, what is your _problem_?" the biracial teen exclaimed in frustration. "It's just a little shot! You have to get it before we go to the Amazon. Why won't you just go?"

"I _can't_ , Zak," Francis growled, "so stop bitching at me and get off my back!"

"Why can't you?" Zak demanded, hands folded across his chest and scowling so darkly that somewhere miles away, Argost awoke from a nightmare that someone was stealing his thunder.

The ex-agent's frown faded and he fell back onto the bed, sitting on the edge of it before dropping his head into his hands. "I…don't do hospitals, Zak," he quietly confessed.

Sensing a hint of fear in his brother's tone, Zak backed off for a moment, more his curiosity got the better of him and he inquired, "Why not?"

Francis closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair; if one looked _extremely_ closely, they would be able to see a slight tremor coursing through his hands. Eventually, he admitted, "Epsilon and his people…you don't think they got their best agent by regular means, do you? No, they did whatever they had to, and that means experiments and tests and I…I just…I _don't do hospitals_."

Startles, Zak sat next to Francis on the bed and hugged him. "Oh my God," he breathed sympathetically, "I…I didn't know…I'm sorry, dude…You don't have to get vaccinated if you don't want to."

"Like I'd have gone if you didn't say it was okay not to," the clone snorted. When the other teen frowned, he sincerely added, "Thanks, though."

**45\. Towel**

"Uhhh…"

"What?" Zak demanded, raising an eyebrow at the baffled stare his friend was giving him.

"What's with the towel, Zak?" Francis came right out and asked. He was surprised when the Saturday boy scowled, looking offended.

"Any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with," the biracial teen informed. "Now come along, strag, I've a Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal to outwit with my towel."

Francis only groaned and trudged after his friend grudgingly, knowing well enough that this was just one of those things he _really_ shouldn't ask about.

**46\. Actor**

Francis was a damn good actor. Everyone, especially Zak, had believed that he despised him. Enjoying the mewling of the tanned boy beneath him, the ex-agent internally thanked the Organization for those acting lessons they'd made him go through.

**47\. Neck**

Francis had been taking to wearing scarves and chokers around his neck as of late. It wasn't because he wanted to make a fashion statement, not because winter was fast approaching and he wanted to keep warm, but because the bites and hickeys on his neck were _really_ hard to explain to friends and family.

**48\. Razor**

Francis had been completely stunned to have the razor with which he'd been planning to end his life knocked out of his hand by his enemy, and even further so to see a visible hint of sheer _panic_ at what he'd been about to do lurking in chocolate eyes.

**49\. Hair**

When he was fifteen, Francis dyed his hair brown. It came out looking flat and dull, but it wasn't green, and that was what he wanted. Anything to show that he had broken away from the Organization's control. It didn't hurt that, the next time he encountered Epsilon, the elder agent looked like he was going to have a coronary.

**50\. Red**

Zak held his friend's wrists in an iron grip, his stare boring into the ex-agent's golden eyes. He could feel the warm blood under his fingers, slick and staining his skin crimson. Francis winced as Zak's fingers put pressure on the cuts.

"Don't you _ever_ do something like this again! Never!"

Zak's eyes glistening with unshed tears cut through the blue fog, making Francis feel even worse. Silently he nodded, and he sat still while his friend dumped antiseptic into the cuts and wrapped his wrists.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment to validate my use of free time.


End file.
